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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890752">Black Ice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourspecialtonight/pseuds/ourspecialtonight'>ourspecialtonight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BDSM, Chain Whipping, Choking (brief mention), Dissociation, Inappropriate Use Of Nen, Love, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pegging, Stalking, Sub Chrollo, Subdrop, Trans Kurapika, Undernegotiated Kink, bloodplay (kinda), insufficient aftercare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:21:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourspecialtonight/pseuds/ourspecialtonight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurapika decides to take his sweet time ending Chrollo’s life, now that he’s finally in his grasp. Chrollo can’t help feeling romanced.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kurapika/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Black Ice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>PLEASE mind the tags on this one, friends. This is very bad BDSM etiquette. Consent is dubious in the sense that Chrollo happens to be into it, but Kurapika doesn’t care and doesn’t ask.<br/>Thank you to BugTongue for helping me brainstorm the ending!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kurapika was being followed. </p><p>He’d been followed for some time, maybe a month now. It never seemed to be the same person tailing him. The barista at his favorite coffee shop staring at him a little too long. The sly smile on the street artist’s face. Sometimes he’d get on the subway and spot a pair of gray eyes on the platform as the train pulled away, familiar and forgotten again in a split second. Eventually, he noticed that the operative’s hands were never fully exposed, either wearing gloves or stuck in pockets or tucked in sleeves. </p><p>The simplest explanation would be a rival crime syndicate, maybe wanting to keep tabs on the rising star of the Nostrade family. Kurapika had rooted out and dealt with those thugs when he caught them hiding in the backseat of the company car or leaving threatening notes stabbed into his apartment door with a knife. Simple idiocy. But this felt different: subtler and more calibrated, as if it were building toward something. As if this person (and Kurapika suspected it was one person, in a variety of impeccable disguises) wanted only to be noticed, for the moment. </p><p>Kurapika preferred to go grocery shopping later in the evening when it was less crowded, even if it meant the produce selection was worse. Most of his meals were frozen these days, anyway. He turned down the pasta aisle, where a scruffy young stocking clerk was crouched down, setting up boxes of instant mac and cheese out of a crate. He wore one of those long-sleeved athletic shirts with the thumb holes under his store uniform. Kurapika narrowed his eyes and paused to examine the cans of soup on the other side of the aisle.</p><p>"Can I help you, sir?" the clerk asked, as if it were a private joke between them. </p><p>"Yes,” Kurapika said calmly. “I would like you to leave me alone."</p><p>The clerk got up and leaned his elbows on the front of Kurapika’s shopping cart, blocking his way, and flicked his eyes up and down Kurapika’s body appraisingly. "Hm. You don't want that."</p><p>“Don’t tell me what I want,” Kurapika snapped. He grabbed two boxes from the perfectly ordered display and stalked off, leaving the rest of his groceries behind in the cart. </p><p>--</p><p>Several days later, a flash downpour in midtown Yorknew forced hordes of pedestrians to take shelter in a subway station. Kurapika was waiting it out, shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, when he heard a voice murmuring directly into his ear, "Order me to disappear, and I will disappear. But I won't be coming back this time, so choose your words carefully." A voice as slick and dangerous as black ice. The one that sent a frisson of heat and chill down his spine, hard-wired into his memory and replayed as whispers in unwelcome dreams. The slightest press of a warm body against his back. </p><p>Though his blood froze in his veins, Kurapika did not even turn his head. His chains hung heavy and grounding from his fingers, but he refused to attack in a packed underground station. He kept his voice steady and polite as he said, “I think you have me confused with someone else.” </p><p>Chrollo hummed a laugh and disappeared back into the crowd before Kurapika could get a look at him. </p><p>--</p><p>After that it was quiet for a full week, and Kurapika wondered if he’d actually shaken him off. It was a welcome change to go through his daily routine unwatched and unbothered, but he couldn’t help thinking he’d made a misstep. Setting aside his bloodlust for Chrollo had been a necessity, for a while, but he wasn’t ready to let him disappear for good. He’d grown unaccustomed to being prey, and the attention had left him feeling twitchy and uncertain. But none of it had been threatening, exactly. He felt baited. Enticed, in a general sense, though he didn’t want to imagine what reaction Chrollo was hoping to get out of him. Then again, maybe Chrollo just liked to play with his food. </p><p>If he played back, he might be able to turn the tables and end this on his own terms, once and for all. </p><p>So Kurapika waited. He spent most of his free time in public spaces, sipping coffee and people-watching, hoping to draw Chrollo back out. Where he used to vary his routine with twists and turns, he now took predictable routes from place to place, always walking the same path through the park on his way home. </p><p>It was spring, and the cherry blossoms were out. Kurapika almost lost himself admiring them one balmy evening when a tall, handsome woman bumped into him. </p><p>“Oh, excuse me!” she said, and placed a gloved hand lightly on his shoulder to set him aright before sliding it down to the small of his back. Kurapika stiffened at the touch, and she glided away on light feet.</p><p>He took out his cell phone and mimed dialing some numbers, then held it to his ear. “I’d like to order some flowers for delivery. A funeral arrangement— I don’t know, something tasteful...” He let the silence hang a moment as he pretended to listen. The woman slowed her gait and paused to pluck a blossom from a low-hanging branch. “Yes, that sounds fine, thank you. The address is 1755 South Eighth Street, apartment 3C. I’m home anytime after seven.” </p><p>From there, Kurapika headed for home as quickly as he could. He unlocked his apartment door and entered carefully, chains ready and gun drawn, for good measure. There weren’t many places to hide; it was a small studio. But he checked under the bed and in the closet and even in the kitchen cabinets, anyway. Nothing. No signs of forced entry, no mess other than the one he himself had left, and nothing obviously missing. </p><p>The only thing different was the delicate arrangement of white lilies in a vase on his kitchen table. </p><p>He looked for the card and pulled it out from the stems. It said only, “so sorry for your loss.” Kurapika dumped the water out of the vase and threw the whole thing in the trash. </p><p>Then he sat on his sofa, waiting and stewing, until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. </p><p>--</p><p>That night, Kurapika was plagued by awful dreams. They started off innocently enough: Chrollo sneaking into his apartment and Kurapika shooting him point-blank in the head, no fanfare. Then it was Chrollo on his knees, begging for mercy with tears in his eyes and Kurapika’s gun to his head. Then Chrollo on his knees again, this time with his hands bound behind his back and a blissful expression on his face. Then Chrollo slipping under the covers and kissing him all over: his jaw, his neck, his eyelids, his lips. Kurapika kissed him back, playing the game until he could draw his knife. He held it to Chrollo’s throat, caressing the blade against his skin and smiling sweetly. Chrollo didn’t care. He pressed into it, kissing Kurapika harder until blood trickled down his neck into the hollow of his throat. Why didn’t Kurapika kill him? Why couldn’t he? He kissed him more. He licked the blood from Chrollo’s neck and spread it across his lips. It tasted so good. <em> Chrollo </em> tasted good. Kurapika moaned into his mouth as if he were the one who was wounded, and Chrollo murmured against his lips, “I’ll die if you ask me to.” </p><p>Kurapika’s orgasm swept him out of the dream and he woke himself up with a gasp. Cool dawn light was just starting to filter in through the window. He lay in bed, stunned, until his alarm went off a short while later. </p><p>Kurapika got up and brushed his teeth and made coffee. He got dressed. He took the same route to work, skipped lunch, took the same route home. He couldn’t shake the dream. </p><p>He picked at his microwaved dinner until it grew cold, then sat at the table in abject silence. </p><p>A little after ten o’clock, his doorbell rang. </p><p>Kurapika cursed to himself. He should never have let a stupid dream weaken and confuse him like this. He looked through the peephole and saw a teenage girl in a school uniform. There was no turning back now. He opened the door wordlessly and the girl held up a generic photo of a dog. In her other hand she held a leash with the tag still on. </p><p>“Please, sir, have you seen my puppy? I’m so sorry to bother you this late at night, but I--” </p><p>“No, please come in.” Whatever bullshit theatrics Chrollo had planned, he’d save him the trouble. He stepped back to allow the “girl” entrance, then quietly bolted the door behind her. This was happening whether he was ready or not. She wandered into his living room and sat on the couch uninvited, tossing her scout backpack next to her. She crossed her legs carelessly and looked around at Kurapika’s bare walls, his cheap furniture, his unmade bed. Kurapika made no apology for the state of his home. He was too busy staring at her hands. They were unconcealed, and bore some strange arrow-marks on the skin. Kurapika couldn’t tell if they were tattoos or brands, but whatever they were, they must have enabled the body-swapping. He made no comment on it, just turned to the kitchenette and pulled a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. The girl watched him as he opened the bottle and poured himself a glass. </p><p>“What are you, obsessed with me now?” He took a sip from his glass.</p><p>“I guess that makes it mutual,” the girl said. </p><p>“One dead friend is all it takes? I would have thought the Legs were perfectly expendable.”</p><p>The girl’s expression soured slightly. “You’re not going to offer me a drink?”</p><p>“Aren’t you a little young?” Kurapika said dryly. </p><p>The girl reached into her backpack and pulled out a small black book. She removed a bookmark from its pages and instantly transformed back into Chrollo, dressed neatly in a dark suit. It was the first time Kurapika had laid eyes on him in person since that night last September, and his breath was momentarily stolen-- with anger, yes, but also that lingering sense of unearned intimacy leftover from the dream, as if he had come into possession of private knowledge without permission. </p><p>“Surely that’s not surprise on your face.” Chrollo’s voice was frank and casual, his posture relaxed.  </p><p>“I forgot how ugly you are, that’s all,” Kurapika said.</p><p>A condescending smile tilted Chrollo’s features. “I’m sorry, that must be hard for you.” His gaze drifted to the wastebasket, where the white lilies were starting to wilt. “You didn’t like my flowers?”</p><p>“Inappropriate for the occasion. The person who’s going to die is no loss to me at all.” Kurapika took another sip of his wine and set it on the counter. He crossed behind the couch, subtly wrapping an invisible chain around Chrollo’s body as he went, and took a seat on the coffee table in front of him. </p><p>"What's your plan here?" he asked. </p><p>Chrollo hummed and tilted his head back in thought, then smiled, as if he'd forgotten something obvious. "Something you may not know about me— I’m not too fond of making plans. I much prefer to create a situation and simply let it unfold. More interesting that way, don’t you think?"</p><p>Kurapika faintly raised an eyebrow. "That's a dangerous strategy. Ever consider you might get more than you bargained for?"</p><p>Chrollo shrugged. "I live in hope." He tried to toss one arm over the back of the sofa, but found that he couldn't move it. Kurapika felt a small surge of pleasure as he made his Chain Jail visible.</p><p>Chrollo looked down at his bindings, then back at Kurapika with what appeared to be genuine fondness. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."</p><p><em> "Disappoint </em> you?" Kurapika's voice grew an edge. He tightened the chains around Chrollo's body, pinning his arms flat to his sides and snaking down to bind his ankles. His vision swam as his eyes shifted to red, and he stood over Chrollo, grasping his jaw roughly with one hand as he thumbed the blade of his knife open with the other. "I'm going to make you regret you ever laid eyes on me."</p><p>“Go ahead,” Chrollo breathed.</p><p>The air changed, as if the whole apartment inhaled in anticipation. There was a strange gleam in Chrollo’s eyes, and Kurapika met it with his own. The rush of having Chrollo in his grasp once again was so potent that Kurapika almost felt dizzy. His heart pounded in his chest, beating a rhythm of <em> mine, mine, mine. </em> Chrollo's life was forfeit the second he set foot in Lukso and he'd been living only with Kurapika’s tenuous permission ever since. But now that Kurapika had him in checkmate, he felt the true extent of the control he held, the answering tension of the reins in his hands. Whatever he did with Chrollo's final hours would be private knowledge. He could take it to his own grave, if he chose. </p><p>And what did he want to do with that precious little time?</p><p>For starters, he backhanded Chrollo as hard as he could with his chain-hand. Chrollo grunted, then licked blood from the corner of his mouth, tongue slow and languorous. His cheek grew rosy from the blow, and Kurapika saw no problem in admitting that he looked better bloodied and disheveled. No. It was no contradiction at all, to take pleasure in seeing Chrollo lowered at his feet. Good. He looked good. </p><p>What did Kurapika want, really? What would soothe his battered soul? When the answer came to him, the corners of his mouth floated up, and he lifted Chrollo’s chin with his fingertips, smeared the blood over his lips with his thumb. Chrollo made a small noise and shut his eyes, tilting his face into the contact. A hysterical little laugh bubbled up from Kurapika’s lungs. </p><p>He was going to grind Chrollo into the dust under his heel, and so what if he liked it?</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The rigidity in the lines of Kurapika’s body smoothed into a breathless calm, and his grip on Chrollo's face relaxed.</p><p>"Get on your knees." His voice curled around Chrollo’s throat like a wisp of smoke. </p><p>Chrollo knelt, feeling dazed already, and Kurapika looked the same. He teased out the knot in the bandage covering Chrollo’s forehead until it fell to the floor, then brushed his fingers through his dark hair. Chrollo savored the touch, pressing up into it. </p><p>“Disgusting,” Kurapika said, all sweet and clinical. “Underneath all that self-serving mythology, you’re just a filthy street rat.”</p><p>“Yes,” Chrollo whispered. The inborn shame that curdled in his chest was hot enough to burn, but it would warm him for months. He dared to lift his gaze, unable to resist pressing back with the obvious truth: “But not to you.”</p><p>The punishment was swift and brutal. A chain shot from Kurapika's ring finger and cut across his back like a whip, sending shockwaves through his bindings and knocking him off balance. He managed to stay upright on his knees, but barely.</p><p>"Count," Kurapika barked.</p><p>"One," Chrollo answered. Almost immediately the chain came again, stinging his spine through his clothes and wrapping around to nip at his chest. His defensive nen had the sometimes-unfortunate side effect of blunting his pain responses, but with his nen bound he was able to feel each link of the chain in exquisite detail as it hit.</p><p>"Two."</p><p>And again.</p><p>Three was an exhale. At four his voice stuttered.</p><p>The rhythm of Kurapika's strikes and his answering count fell into a hypnotic dance with each other, as if cause and effect were reversed and each of his numbers contained a request for one more, please.</p><p>Five was a plea. Six was a soft moan.</p><p>The seventh blow felt like a caress that knocked the air from his lungs, and Chrollo finally succumbed to the demands of gravity. The chains around his body bit into his flesh as he hit the floor, but pain was somewhere off in the distance.</p><p>"S-seven," he murmured into the hardwood. He'd still take more without a word of complaint.</p><p>"That was your warning. I only give one." Kurapika kicked him lightly in the ribs. "Get up."</p><p>Chrollo wormed his way back to his side and managed to comply. The constriction of the chains around him felt steadying, as if Kurapika were holding him up, and he relaxed into it. His thoughts slowed and narrowed, until the only thing left in his mind was a full-bodied wish to obey. </p><p>He'd never been brought to this point so quickly and so fully. </p><p>Kurapika looked down at him consideringly. “You know,” he began, “I used to wonder what it would take to bring you to your knees. I never thought you’d be so easy.” </p><p>Chrollo wanted to respond, but the thought of Kurapika wondering about him, about <em> this, </em>was overwhelming. Did his attention drift at work as he imagined the finer details of Chrollo’s submission? Did he lie in bed at night, unable to sleep until he got himself off to the thought? The words drowned in his throat. </p><p>“Head to the floor. You’re going to wait until I’m ready for you, and I don’t want to hear a word while you do it.” </p><p>Chrollo folded and touched his forehead to the floor as Kurapika turned away from him. The nen chains were cold even through his clothes, and the hardwood floor was unkind to his knees. It was wonderful. He heard Kurapika opening a drawer on the other side of the room. He twisted to steal a glance.</p><p>Kurapika was staring down into the top drawer of a small dresser. He pulled out some strappy item with buckles and tossed it on the bed behind him. Then he started digging through the contents of the drawer, and a couple socks fell to the floor. </p><p>The anticipation was exquisite. Chrollo averted his eyes again, wanting to be good. He could hear the drawer sliding shut, then the shuffle of clothes, the light clanks and clicks of buckles, then the creaking of the floorboards as Kurapika returned to his side. A bare knee nudged him. </p><p>“Up.” </p><p>Upon sitting up and seeing Kurapika, a faint <em> oh </em> left Chrollo's lips. He was still wearing his white shirt and black tie, but all he wore on the bottom half was a strap-on dildo in a leather harness over his hips. And dress socks. His expression was one of detached serenity. Chrollo longed to touch him, to affect him the way he himself had been affected, but he settled for words. "You look lovely."</p><p>"Quiet. Show me what your mouth is actually good for."</p><p>Chrollo opened his mouth to accept two of Kurapika's fingers. His warm tongue swirled around them, skilled and willing. He wanted so badly to please Kurapika, to prove his devotion. </p><p>"That's good enough. " Kurapika removed his fingers and wiped them on Chrollo’s clothes.</p><p>Chrollo melted under the faint praise. Kurapika grabbed a fistful of hair at the back of his head and thrust the dildo into his mouth next. Chrollo took as much of it as he could, thrilled at the chance to earn more praise. </p><p>His beloved was not gentle. The silicone bruised the back of Chrollo’s throat, and tears streamed down his cheeks as he choked. He relished the roughness, happy to be entrusted with Kurapika’s cock, such as it was. A possession, but a valued one. Chrollo could relate to the feeling. He smiled around the object and glanced up at Kurapika. </p><p>In spite of his peaceful expression, Kurapika’s bloodlust was stormy and drippingly thick. How sweet. He actually thought he was going to kill Chrollo tonight. He didn’t understand yet that undivided attention was the purest form of love. And he’d been devoting his thoughts, undoubtedly his dreams, the contents of his blackened heart, to Chrollo for years, seemingly to the exclusion of everything else. Tonight was just the long-awaited natural conclusion. </p><p>And god, Kurapika’s exclusive attention was as potent as wine. Even his cruelty felt bright and tender, a living thing all on its own. All that rumination and romance wouldn’t be wasted on something so banal as murder. It was something to be savored. Chrollo would reward Kurapika with his devotion, and Kurapika would come to understand. Even if he was blind to love.</p><p>“Okay, enough. Christ, you look like a whore,” Kurapika said, and withdrew the cock from Chrollo’s mouth. “Do you suppose that will save your life?” </p><p>Chrollo laughed softly but didn’t talk back. </p><p>Kurapika knelt behind him and flicked something open in his hand. Before Chrollo knew what was happening, the cool flat of a knife ghosted over the skin of his ass and the back seam of his pants was shredded open. The open disregard for how he’d get home with his dignity intact made him half-wonder if Kurapika would keep him as a pet, once he realized murder was not going to happen. The thought took Chrollo’s breath away: spending spring and summer on his back, always ready, always waiting to be used in whatever way Kurapika saw fit. </p><p>Kurapika retreated and sat back on the edge of his bed. “Get yourself ready. I’ll wait here.”</p><p>Chrollo could barely shift his arms under the chains. He wriggled onto his back and worked his shoulder blades back until he could just about reach two fingers in. He bent his knees and lifted his hips off the floor to make it easier. Kurapika must have known this type of prep wasn’t really necessary. Maybe he just liked to watch. Chrollo’s heart flamed, and his trapped cock strained against his bindings. He worked himself open as best he could without lube as Kurapika watched him struggle, stroking the strap and looking bored. </p><p>Kurapika wasn’t bored, though. Chrollo could see the glow of sweat above his collar, the slight tension in the tendons of his hands. His focus on Chrollo was absolute. Chrollo circled his hips with the drag of his fingers, and he let his voice slip into his breaths, each one coming out as a needy hum.</p><p>Kurapika stood up abruptly. “Time’s up,” he said, as if it were a punishment and not a reward. </p><p>“Oh no.” A prayer of adoration, a tender look, a quirk of the lips. </p><p>Kurapika slapped him again and the sting sent him floating. He dragged Chrollo to his feet then bent him over the kitchen table where he’d left the flowers yesterday. A hand pressed down on the back of his neck, forcing his cheek into the table, and fingers dug against his pulsepoint, dulling his oxygen intake until his vision fogged. When the stars cleared from his eyes, the cock was already inside him, blissfully thick and slippery. </p><p>Kurapika’s hips ground against him, pushing as deep as he could get. Chrollo’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. Those nimble fingers moved from Chrollo’s neck to grip the chains across his back like a harness. He felt his chest bruising in lines as the chains tightened with each thrust, and the mingled duality of pain and pleasure lit him up from the inside out. </p><p>Chrollo could hear Kurapika panting lightly behind him and feel his fingers flexing into his back. He could only imagine the pink on Kurapika’s cheeks; what he wouldn’t give to see it himself. His thighs tensed and heat pooled in his stomach. But under the glow and flush of the attention lurked a small anxiety. He’d been given so much; he wanted to return the favor with his hands, his mouth, to worship Kurapika with everything he had, skin to skin. Without permission to even look back at him, Chrollo felt almost lonely.</p><p>Kurapika’s bed looked so inviting, over in the corner. A small voice in the back of his head thought how nice it would be to fall asleep there once they were finished, maybe even in Kurapika’s arms, if he’d allow it. What it would mean to be allowed access to that private realm. </p><p>His voice felt far away when he asked, “Can. Can we move to your bed?” </p><p>Kurapika laughed harshly. “I’d sooner fuck you out in the street.” </p><p>Chrollo’s brain shifted in his head. If the bed was appealing, the thought of Kurapika doing this to him in the street was dizzying— to be so cared for that Kurapika would claim him publicly like that. A warm glow rushed into his chest. “...Think I love you,” he mumbled. </p><p>“Shut up,” Kurapika snarled. He pulled out, then reached down to grab something off the floor. Chrollo waited, nice and docile, while Kurapika gagged him with his bandanna and tied it tightly behind his head. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” </p><p>He accepted the gag, and Kurapika re-entered him roughly and pressed him down against the table. </p><p>“That’s better,” he whispered. “I should have muzzled you a long time ago.”</p><p>Chrollo wished he had. So much trouble could have been avoided if Paku had just let Kurapika have him the first time. No one would have died, and he could have spent all winter in the fiery thrall of Kurapika’s cruelty, instead of exiled and dreaming about it. </p><p>Such a waste.</p><p>Kurapika had gone quiet behind him. His hands weren’t digging into Chrollo’s back so intently anymore. The pace of his thrusts had slackened, but the slow, smooth drag over Chrollo’s prostate grew more intense. </p><p>Chrollo whimpered against the gag. His breaths grew short and uneven. What he wouldn’t give for Kurapika to finish him with a touch, but that was impossible. He was so close anyway, even the friction of cloth and chain against his cock was about to tip him over the edge.</p><p>“Don’t you fucking dare,” Kurapika threatened, even as he fucked him deeper.</p><p>Chrollo tried to obey, truly, but it was too late. He came untouched with a whine and panted against the table, waiting for the inevitable punishment. Kurapika stilled behind him. The warm weight of Kurapika’s chest pressing against his back, an arm wrapped over his chest pulling him up, then the flick of a knife against his jugular. Chrollo leaned back into him on legs that felt like jelly and waited, ready and trusting, for whatever Kurapika had planned. </p><p>“Do you know how many times I dreamed about this?” There was something odd in Kurapika’s voice, some tremulous honesty Chrollo couldn’t make sense of. Kurapika’s other arm crept across his middle to hold him from behind, almost clinging to him. “I wanted your death to be personal.” </p><p>He pulled out and flipped Chrollo around to look him in the face. Kurapika’s eyes had gone a muddy blood-red, his expression distant and wavering, almost afraid. His bloodlust was ebbing down to nearly nothing. The knife in Kurapika’s hand slipped down to his side and hung there harmlessly. </p><p>“But it can’t be personal. Because you’re not a person. You’re nothing.”</p><p>The lack of poison in his tone was a blow. Chrollo searched his face for any evidence of the care he’d been shown only minutes ago. Any sign of intention or passion or hunger toward him. But he found nothing. Even his eyes were drifting back to brown. Kurapika might as well be staring at a dead bird on the ground: disturbing, but ultimately insignificant. </p><p>The floatiness Chrollo had enjoyed was starting to erode into leaden heaviness, as if all his energy had been sapped. His spirit, already peeled from his body, felt neglected rather than liberated. A damp chill was sinking under his prickled skin. </p><p>Kurapika’s brow furrowed. His fingers ghosted down Chrollo’s side as he released his steadying grip on the chains. “Why are you shivering?” </p><p>Chrollo didn’t answer. He barely heard the question. </p><p>Kurapika untied the gag and let it fall to the floor. “Answer me.”</p><p>The sudden shift into concern gave Chrollo whiplash. For a second he thought he might cry. He couldn’t speak; his thoughts felt fuzzed and distant. The chains around his body loosened, then retracted back to Kurapika’s hand. Without them, Chrollo’s knees felt weak, and he took a half-step back against the table to steady himself. </p><p>“Come on,” Kurapika sighed. He took Chrollo by the shoulders and steered him over to the couch. “Sit.” </p><p>Chrollo collapsed into a seat as directed. He pulled one leg up to his chest and rested his face in his hand. He couldn’t look at Kurapika. The sting of rejection had left him unmoored. And now he was acutely aware of his shredded pants, and the fact that he’d be walking home wearing them. </p><p>Kurapika left him there and crossed back over to his dresser. The sound of a drawer opening, then sliding shut again. Chrollo felt something soft hit him and opened his eyes. It was a folded pair of black sweatpants. </p><p>“Put those on before you go.” The cushions shifted as Kurapika sat on the other end of the couch. He flipped the tv on, volume low; the late-evening news was just wrapping up with a story about a new hospital opening downtown. Chrollo glanced surreptitiously at Kurapika. He’d taken the strap-on and his tie off, and was in the process of pulling a fleece throw over his bare legs. </p><p>They sat in a silence that shifted between stiff and comfortable. The reporter on tv was explaining something about the hospital’s pediatric unit; Chrollo wasn’t really paying attention. He was starting to feel a little calmer. Or at the very least, his mind was settling back into his body. His blood didn’t feel like molten lead in his veins anymore. But something Kurapika had said was still bothering him. </p><p>“I never claimed to be a person.” He shut his eyes, hating how fragile his voice sounded. </p><p>“Oh, get over yourself,” Kurapika scoffed. “You’re alive.” </p><p>The news ended and a rerun of an old game show came on. Kurapika tossed the blanket off his lap and got up. Chrollo tensed, expecting to be kicked out, but Kurapika headed to the kitchen. He ran a kettle under the tap and set it on a burner, the click of the gas stove lighting, then came back and settled on the opposite end of the couch again. The game show contestants clapped and high-fived each other. Chrollo relaxed a little deeper into his own spot.  </p><p>It wasn’t the same as drifting off to sleep in Kurapika’s bed. But it was something. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>With apologies to Simone Weil for allowing Chrollo to bastardize her conception of undivided attention as the highest form of love.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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